What to do About Mary
by j57b48
Summary: Sherlock is upset about John's relationship with a Mary Morstan, especially when he finds out that John plans to move out and get married to her.


Mary, Mary, Mary. That was all John ever talked about. Mary Morstan. If he wasn't talking about her, he was thinking about her. Lately he'd been spending so much time with her. This displeased Sherlock more than he would like to admit.

They were out on another date at the moment, and Sherlock was left alone, pacing the flat, waiting for John to return. It was well past eleven o'clock.

He thought back to when he had first met John. They used to spend so much time together. Now he hardly ever saw John.

Sherlock hadn't had a case in days. He was desperately trying to stay occupied. Mrs. Hudson had threatened Sherlock a while back, swearing she wouldn't make him tea anymore if he shot the wall again. So he decided to play his violin instead.

Sherlock heard footsteps. John was coming up the stairs. He entered the flat, smiling to himself.

Sherlock set his violin aside and sat down. He studied John for a moment. "What did she say?"

John looked up. "What did who say?"

"What did Mary say," Sherlock inquired, "When you proposed to her?"

John looked surprised. "What – no, I – I mean, I didn't –" He struggled to formulate a sentence.

Sherlock sighed. "Watson, you're wearing a suit, and you've taken the time to shine your shoes. You've done your hair and I can smell your cologne from here. Clearly you'd taken extra steps to prepare for your date, so I can only assume it was no ordinary dinner. Furthermore, the ring box that was in your right coat pocket when you left is no longer there. And to top it off, you've got a foolish grin on your face. I already know the answer, John. I was simply asking to be polite."

John took a moment to recover. He sat down on the couch. "I wish you wouldn't do that."

"I'm not doing anything," Sherlock said, "Just drawing a logical conclusion from a series of obvious facts."

"I was going to tell you," John explained, "But I should have known you'd figure it out anyway."

"Of course I would." Sherlock scoffed. "So, she said yes?"

John nodded. "We'll be getting married in a few months. I don't know the exact date yet."

Sherlock grabbed his box of nicotine patches and slapped one onto his arm.

"Good god, Sherlock." John exclaimed. "You've already got two on!"

"Well I needed another!" Sherlock cried. "This news is very upsetting to me. How are we supposed to live together when you're married to this woman? Will you be leaving every day, coming home at all hours of the morning? Or are you planning on bringing her here? I don't think I can deal with that!"

"You won't have to, Sherlock," John said, "I'll be moving out of the flat."

Sherlock was silent for a moment. "Moving… out?"

"Yes," John replied, "Mary and I will be getting our own place."

"But, you can't just leave!" Sherlock protested, shaking his head.

"Yes, Sherlock, I can. I'm a grown man. I can make my own decisions."

Sherlock reached for the box of nicotine patches once more, but John grabbed it from him.

"No more patches, Sherlock!"

"Why not?" He cried. "I'm also a grown man. Can't _I _make my own decisions?"

"Not if they're going to kill you!" John yelled. "I knew you would react this way, Sherlock! Why can't you just be happy for me and accept that –"

Sherlock's phone began to ring. He held up a finger, silencing John. He answered the phone and listened for a moment, before hanging up.

"That was Lestrade. We've got ourselves a case!" He jumped up and grabbed his coat. John was still sitting on the couch. "Aren't you coming?"

John sighed. "I can't, Sherlock. I'm about to start a new life with Mary. I'm tired of constantly putting myself in danger to help you."

"Fine," Sherlock said. "I guess I'll investigate this _triple homicide_ by myself."

He turned on his heel and began to walk away.

John sat there for a moment. He heard Sherlock's footsteps on the stairs, followed by the slam of the door. He stood up. There was no way he was missing out on this.

"Duty calls," John said to himself.

And he hurried to catch up with Sherlock.


End file.
